Paranormal Files
by Amber Vermilion
Summary: AU shounenai! If this bothers you, please read no further. The gang from Weiss and Schwartz are cast as Witch Hunters working for Kritiker to rid the world of evil witches. RanxKen, inspired by Witch Hunter Robin. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warning 1: slash fic. If you don't like that, please don't read it.

Warning 2: AU

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys…

Author's Note: This is my first ever Weiss Kreuz fan fiction. All I've done is watch the anime and read my share of Ran/Ken; so I apologize in advance for any OOC'ness. Comments on characterization for future endeavors will be greatly appreciated.

Author's Note 2: I lay no claim to originality in the conception of this story. I apologize in advance if it seemed a blatant rip off of Witch Hunter Robin but with characters from Weiss and Schwartz.

Enough of my babbling, on with the story…

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Chapter 1:

"Kase!" Ken screamed as the thugs pulled his struggling lover away from him. Around him, the warehouse was being engulfed in a sea of flames, but he barely noticed. All he knew was that he couldn't move, couldn't save the one he loved.

The fire licked his prone form, but he could not feel its heat. Consciousness was quickly fading; but Ken refused to give in. /I can't die yet. I have to save Kase./

His vision blurred as pain exploded inside his skull. Twin screams of surprised agony echoed in the night. Through his hazy eyes, Ken could see that writhing torches had now replaced the gangsters by his lover's side. His brain could not comprehend the image, could not understand the horror in Kase's eyes. All he knew was that the threat to his beloved was gone; and he was free to follow the siren's call of oblivion.

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"Remind me again, Oracle, why am I here?" Schuldig wrinkled his nose as he eyed the soot on his designer shoes. He hated being dragged away from his usual nightly activities for a job, especially when it was something as trivial as recovering a newly awakened Hunter.

"Serves you right for never coming in on time," Omi taunted through their comlink. It has been a year since Schwartz lost one of its own due to their employer's treachery and decided to join forces with Weiss to get revenge. But the bad blood between Omi and Schuldig ran deep; and while they had no choice but to work together, they would never let any opportunity to tease or provoke each other pass.

"I wasn't talking to you." The German grunted as he kicked away some debris to reveal an unharmed dark-haired youth underneath. "Jackpot."

"I trust you will bring him to Persia without incident," the Oracle's smooth baritone commented with authority. Schuldig hated following orders with a passion; but he had enough respect and fear for Crawford to know not to mess around when the man was serious.

"Yeah, I got it. You are a real slave driver, you know that?" the Mastermind grumbled as he hoisted the young man onto his shoulder. The sooner he got his job over with, the sooner he could return to more pleasant things. He could hardly wait.

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"Prodigy, do you have visual?" Youji whispered into his headset as he watched their target, an unassuming middle-aged man, moved into an empty ally. Soon, it would be time to strike; but no matter how many times he had gone up against telekinetic Witches, it never failed to make him nervous. He wanted to make sure his backup was ready, should he need it.

"Yeah, Balinese, I have your location," replied the soft-spoken youth as he moved into position. He was on the rooftop of the building a block south of the alley. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the target and the blond assassin.

"On three then. One… two… three…" Youji quietly crept upon his target, careful to not give away the element of surprise. He released his assassin's wire, hoping to gain a strangle hold on the Witch before he was discovered, but luck was not on his side. A car screeched to a halt in the street behind him; his target turned before his wire could find its mark. Summoning a gale, the Witch batted Youji's weapons harmless aside.

With a widening of ebony eyes, the winds intensified to rush at the assassin full force. Though every member of their team wore an amulet for protection against the Witches' Craft, the trinket sometimes "malfunctions". To Youji's chagrin, this was one of those times. The blond was blown onto the ground and pinned down; all he could do was watch as their target attempted an escape. "He's all yours, Prodigy…" groaned Youji into his com-link through gritted teeth. "And be careful. It's one of** those** nights again."

"Got it." Nagi ripped his amulet off before giving chase. There was no point in wearing it when he knew it wouldn't work. Besides, it dampened his own gifts; and given how fast their target was moving, he would need every ounce of his powers to catch up and subdue him.

What followed was a game of preternatural cat and mouse, where the hunter and hunted dashed and teleported from rooftop to rooftop across the city. Nagi smiled as he closed in on the target. Their game was at an end. The Prodigy sent a psychic blast at the fleeing Witch; but the man countered the attack with an explosive display of his telekinetic powers. The invisible blows collided in mid-air, the force of the collision sending both assassin and prey flying off the rooftop.

Nagi grunted as he landed inside a recycling dumpster filled with cardboard boxes. He knew he should consider himself lucky that he hadn't sustained any serious injuries; but he was too angry with himself to count his blessings. He should have been prepared for the explosion, should have used the opportunity to subdue the Witch. Instead, he had been surprised, so much so that he actually **fell **all the way to the ground. And now, because of his stupidity, their target had gotten away. Crawford was going to have his hide for this…

A shaky whisperthrough his earpiece sliced through the Prodigy's self-criticism. "You… How…" It was the Witch's voice.

Had Youji found their target again? But even if he had, the blonde would have enough sense to steer clear, knowing their amulets were not working. Had the fools at Kritiker sent another team as their "backup" without their knowledge again?

"Die!" A burst of wind howled into Nagi's ear,telling himthat their target had just released his full powers. The youth shook his head and closed his eyes; this was just what he needed… the deaths of Kritiker agents on a blotched mission. Crawford was definitely going to kill him now.

"You powers have no effect on me."

Nagi bolted into sitting position as he heard Abyssinian's soft monotone through the com-link. This made no sense; Aya was not supposed to be on the mission tonight. Besides, their amulets weren't working; how on earth could the redhead withstand a full blast of the Witch's Craft as if it were child's play?

"You're a Hunter, aren't you?"

Nagi could never imagine their target, who had given them so much trouble tonight, speaking in such fearful tones; but there was no mistaking the raw terror in the Witch's voice.

"Maybe" was the flippant answer given before silence descended upon the communication channels.Thencame thesoft click that signified the sheathing of Abyssinian's katana. Their mission was over, their target neutralized. Nagi breathed a sigh of relief as he reported his status; it would seem that he would be spared the Oracle's wrath tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: This chapter sucks! The first part contributes absolutely nothing to the progression of the plot, but I needed it as set up to give Ken some time. That, and I **love** writing Ran… He's just so deliciously angsty. I hope you'll not hate it too much…

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Chapter 2

Crawford wrinkled his brow as he took a sip from his instant coffee; he really didn't know how anyone could **like** that stuff. Omi had left the office hours ago, as soon as the hunt ended. After all, the boy was still in school and had to keep to a regular schedule. The Oracle gazed at the flickering screen before him with indifference; he really wasn't in the mood for current affairs. A smile graced his lips as golden eyes turned towards the elevator expectedly. The man he was waiting for was due to arrive.

A moment later, the elevator door opened with a cheery ring to reveal a familiar redhead. Clad in a long black trench coat and matching leather pants, armed with a sleek katana, Aya could easily pass for an action film star despite his slender build. If the assassin was surprised to find Crawford still at the office, he didn't show it. Without even sparing the man a glance, he walked towards the mission room to stow away his gear.

With a soft sigh at the assassin's anti-social antics, Crawford followed Aya into the mission room. "Nice work tonight, as usual."

There were very few men in the world that the Oracle respected; and Abyssinian was one of them. It started when they were rivals, when Schwartz was under orders from Esset to eliminate Kritiker's Witch Hunters. While Omi, as mission planner, often steered Weiss right into their traps, Aya somehow always managed to find a way to guide his team out alive. As maddening as it was to have his meticulous schemes foiled, the Oracle could not help but foster a grudging respect for Abyssinian's resourcefulness and abilities.

In fact, the red-haired assassin was the reason the Oracle decided to join forces with Weiss after Esset cast Schwartz aside for a more powerful front-line team. Crawford wanted his former employers to pay; and he knew, with Aya on his side, his vengeance would be assured. "I was pleasantly surprised when you showed up tonight. I know you have an early flight tomorrow."

"Hn." The day was supposed to mark the beginning of Aya's month-long leave of absence. He was scheduled to accompany his sister to the US to undergo a new diagnostic procedure to pinpoint the cause of her prolonged coma. While he would never admit to being concerned about his teammates safety, he wasn't so heartless that he'd stay home and sleep when he knew WAS, an unimaginative acronym for Weiss & Scwhartz, was going after a particularly dangerous target.

"You know there's no reason for you to go, right? Kritiker has the security details for your sister under control," Crawford reasoned in one last attempt to change Aya's mind. He couldn't believe it at first, that Persia would allow Abyssinian to abandon his duties for a full month. Aya was critical to WAS. With the Oracle assigned to the office as 'controller of operations', the redhead was the only one on the field with leadership experience. If tonight were any indication, WAS would be in for some tough times without their field leader.

"I know." A trace of guilt surfaced in the redhead's mind, but he stomped it down mercilessly. Aya-chan was his first priority, the reason why he had chosen the life of an assassin in the first place. Nothing else, not his teammates well-being, not the innocent lives he could save from his work, was more important than being there for his sister. He had failed her once; he would **not** do so ever again.

"Just don't get your hopes too high, alright?" Crawford sighed in resignation. He had foreseen that nothing would come of this trip; that Aya-chan would be no closer to waking after this procedure than she was before. He didn't want the redhead to have unrealistic expectations from the trip, only to be disappointed. Abyssinian tended to get **extremely **snappish when things did not go his way; and that was an experience Crawford would much rather not relive.

"Since when is hope a part of my vocabulary?" retorted Aya as he shot the Oracle an annoyed look. He was a murderer; his hands stained in blood, just like the Witches he hunted. Ideals like hope and camaraderie had no place in the dark world he lived in.

"And they say I'm a cynic," the Oracle laughed. Aya truly amazed him sometimes; he didn't know how the man could be so fatalistic and ruthless, and still remained decent and righteous. If only the redhead weren't as frigid as an ice-cube… he'd probably be Crawford's idea of the ideal mate.

Aya chuckled as he glided out of the mission room and towards the elevator in smooth elegant strides. Though he would never admit it, he rather enjoyed Crawford's dry wit and sarcastic humor. It kept Youji in line even better than his own death glares. "I'm heading out. I'll see you back here in a month."

"If the place is still standing," Crawford mumbled at the redhead's retreating form. He didn't need the gift of foresight to tell him that someone was bound to get careless and hurt on a mission, if Omi and Schuldig didn't managed to kill each other first. And to top that off, Persia had his eyes set on a new Hunter, who would likely require much baby-sitting before being of an use to the team. It was going to be a **long** month.

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A dull ache at the base of his skull chipped incessantly at the comforting fog that enveloped Ken's mind. It was not long before the refugee of oblivion abandoned him, thrusting him back to wakefulness once more. Unfocused hazel eyes flickered open, only to be blinded by the harsh light of a fluorescent ceiling lamp. Ken groaned in annoyance as he flung his arm over his eyes for shade. He was at a hospital, he could tell by the strong antiseptic smell that saturated the air; but for some strange reason, he couldn't recall the events that had brought him there. The last thing he remembered was sharing a heated kiss with his lover in the dark, promising his beloved that everything would soon be back to the way they were, before an unsubstantiated gambling scandal ruined their perfect lives.

"You're awake," commented a sultry female voice, rousing Ken from his contemplation.

"Why am I here?" the ex-soccer star frowned as he heaved himself to sitting position. Dark specks swarmed his vision at the sudden motion, as the pain at the back of his head intensified. While Ken was no doctor, he was no stranger to injuries and concussions, thanks to his choice of profession. Judging by the wave of dizziness dimming his senses, he knew he must have taken a pretty hard hit on the head; but the how and why continued to remain a mystery.

"You don't remember what happened at the warehouse?"

Ken stared at the red-haired woman blankly as he repeated her words in his mind. /The warehouse…. The warehouse…The warehouse…Kase/

It all came back to him in a rush. His lover had led him to a warehouse that night. They were supposed to meet with an informant who could lead them to the leader of the gambling ring that had made Ken their scapegoat and caused his expulsion from the J-League. He had such high hopes for the future then, dreams of being able to play soccer along side his beloved once more. But instead of finding the informant, all they found were thugs under the gambling ring's employ.

Ken fought the gangsters with every ounce of his strength, trying to buy time for his lover to escape; but there were too many. He was knocked down by a blow from behind; and all he could do was lay there and watch as they dragged his lover away. He could still hear it, Kase screaming his name, as the man struggled to get to him, to help him…

Then, there were the flames, smoldering, wild, yet comforting at the same time. His consciousness had been fading then; but he remembered it now, the gentle caresses of the fire, a pain so intense that his skull felt as if it had been split apart right between his eyes, the strange sensation of an invisible force gushing from the imaginary crack.

Suddenly, he felt sick. Images of human flesh set ablaze flashed across his mind; and he his heart, he knew **he** was the cause. Now, he understood the last look his lover gave him before fleeing in terror. He could **never** return to his beloved again, to the life he once knew. He had become a monster. "Oh god…"

A few quick confident strides took Manx to the ex-soccer player's bedside. She had ample experience in recruiting Hunters; she was an expert at manipulating grief and despair in Kritiker's favor. But the open vulnerability on Ken's distressed face made her wish there was another way. Despite everything, there was still so much innocence in the young man; he didn't belong in the shady underworld where Hunters and Witches fought to decide the fate of humankind. "Ken, you have a gift. I know it is not easy to accept…"

"What do you want from me?" Ken asked softly without meeting Manx's eyes, jerking away from the redhead's attempt to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. He wasn't exactly smart; but he wasn't stupid either. The woman knew **what** he was; and yet, she was here, trying to comfort him. That wasn't something any **normal** person would do; she must have a hidden agenda.

"I work for an secret organization that hunts evil Witches. I am here to ask you to join us," Manx replied in a business-like tone. She was here to do a job; she would do it, even if she found it distasteful.

"Hunt Witches? So you want me to kill?" The ex-soccer player let out a bitter laugh as he stared at his hands. They seemed so clean, too clean, considering the blood he had shed that night.

"Yes, but you will be saving innocent lives by denying these Dark Beasts their tomorrow."

The Kritiker recruiter reached into her briefcase to retrieve a folder. "This is what a Witch can do," she said as she took out a photograph of a dismembered body of a young boy and laid it upon Ken's lap. Another picture followed, a teenage girl, body crushed completely crushed by some unnatural force.

"I will not lie to you; the life of a Hunter isn't easy. It's kill or be killed; and your hands will be as steeped in blood as the ones you hunted. But can you honestly turn away, knowing you have the power to prevent **this** from happening to someone?" With dramatic flourish, Manx threw the folder onto Ken's lap, its gruesome contents fanning out for the youth to see.

Ken stared at the photos. He knew he had no right to judge the Witches who committed these atrocities. He was just the same, guilty of unleashing his powers upon those who did not stand a chance against him. But damned as he was, he still believed there was goodness in the world; and that it was worth fighting to protect. And if his accursed power could save even one soul from being tainted with darkness, he would do it. As the look of defeat upon his face morphed into one of determination, Ken raised his head and held Manx's eyes. "I'm in."


	3. Chapter 3

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: Boy, this chapter is long and boring! Why do things always work better in my head than on paper? I hope you don't hate it…

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Chapter 3:

Ran was tired. It had been an emotionally draining month, watching on the sidelines as his sister underwent endless rounds of diagnostic examinations. It was painful: the sight of long thin electrodes penetrating Aya-chan's soft flesh, making the treatment seemed more an exercise in torture than healing. How he wished he could trade places with his sister, that he was the one lying on the cold metal slab, a pincushion for zealous physicians. He was the one who deserved that pain, not sweet innocent Aya-chan.

All through the doctors' prodding, the blue-haired girl remained in serene slumber, heedless of the world around her. More than once, Ran was tempted to cut their stay at the research facility short. He never expected much from these procedures in the first place. But he knew it would not be fair to Aya-chan. His sister deserved this chance; he had no right to take it from her, just because **he** could no longer believe in hope for a better future.

In the end, when the tests had finally concluded, the doctors were no closer to finding what was wrong with Aya-chan than before. There were no signs of brain damage or nervous system trauma that could account for her comatose state. The doctors suggested psychological issues as a possible cause.

"Speak to her," they had advised him, "Make her feel like she is a part of your life. Guide her back with your voice." But what was Ran supposed to say. He couldn't involve her in his world of murder and darkness. Yet, other than taking care of his sister, his job **was** his entire life; there was nothing else.

Ran's musing was interrupted when the taxi driver pulled to a stop in front of his apartment. "Sir, we are here."

"Hn," the redhead nodded and gazed at his watch. It was early afternoon, which meant the house he shared with his Weiss teammates should be empty. Omi was still in school; and as lazy as Youji was, the man should be at the office by now. A wry smile flitted across his lips as he grabbed his duffel bag and stepped out of the car. He was glad for the solitude; he was in no mood to deal with **people** right now.

Ran trudged into the house with his luggage in tow, his usual grace lost in his foul disposition. His senses, however, sparked to full alert when the sound of off-key humming told him he wasn't alone. He couldn't recognize the voice; and judging by the tone, the mystery singer was male. Youji sometimes allowed his "dates" to stay overnight, but the playboy was a 100 a ladies' man. Was the intruder a Witch who had discovered the Weiss' hideout? But what self-respecting servant of evil would **sing** and announce his presence in such a ridiculous manner?

Though his instincts told him the intruder was harmless, Ran decided it was best to proceed with caution. Quiet as he could, he dropped his bag and slunk deeper into the house. Soundlessly, he reached behind the large potted fern at the end of the hallway to retrievea small gun he'd kept there in case of emergencies.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned out slightly to survey the living room. The area looked like a war zone; but that was hardly **unexpected**, considering Omi's inability to keep Youji in line. The older blonde's aptitude at making messes was truly phenomenal.

With no intruder in sight, the redheaded assassin stepped out of the corridor and crept slowly towards the source of the voice. He could smell it now, the faint scent of smoke. Maybe their uninvited guest was trying to burn their house down. But why would an enemy do such a thing in broad daylight when no one was in the house? It didn't make any sense.

Silent as a panther stalking its prey, Ran slid into the kitchen and readied his gun. He frowned as he saw the "target", his brain not quite comprehending the scene before him. The intruder was a brunette, slightly shorter than himself, his muscular built showcased in a red and yellow soccer jersey and black shorts. The man's back was to him; but unless his eyes were deceiving him, the "target" was at the stove, **cooking** as he hummed and swayed to some imaginary beat.

For a moment, Ran wondered if he was still asleep on the plane. Maybe all this was just a weird dream. But why would he dream about a brown-haired man humming, dancing and cooking in his kitchen! As the initial shock wore off, the assassin's temper flared. He was tired, starved and filthy from his journey back from San Francisco. All he wanted was a shower and some food and sleep before he had to rejoin humanity. Was that really too much to ask?

The redhead was tempted to let out a weary sigh, but he didn't want to startle the intruder. With a burst of speed, the redhead closed the distance between himself and his target. With his gun at the back of the stranger's head, the redhead growled, "You have ten seconds to tell me who you are and what you are doing here before I blow your brains out."

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Ken was having a bad day; but then, it's probably impossible for a new recruitat WAS to have a good day. It had started out okay with hand-to-hand combat training. Thanks to his previous career, he was in perfect physical condition. He had the reflexes, strength and stamina necessary to become a great fighter. It was a simple matter of learning the moves before he could redirect his prowess to a deadlier pursuit.

Ken knew he wasn't the fastest learner in the world; but he was rather pleased with his progress in martial arts. Even the trainers from Kritiker said he was doing great for a rookie. Sure, Schuldig was standing in the back, snickering at the comment, drawing Ken's attention to the word "rookie" with a mental nudge; but the ex-soccer player was used to ridicule and scorn. He had survived through a childhood at an orphanage and the media maelstrom after his scandal; the Mastermind's taunts were child's play compared to that.

The Oracle's biting criticism, though, was another story. He swore Crawford knew **exactly** what to say to make a man feel like a worthless piece of crap. But then, it was his own fault for giving the clairvoyant the opportunity to reprimand him. If only he was better at controlling his Craft…

While Ken **excelled** at setting things on fire, he had problems directing his powers towards specific objects. After a mishap that nearly destroyed the WAS office, his Craft training was moved to an underground facility. Yet, despite practicing every day for the past month, his control hadn't improved. If anything, it had gotten worse as his powers grew.

Everyone at the office was of the opinion that his Craft training sessions were accidents waiting to happen; and today, much to his chagrin, he had proved them right. He released too much power and created a blast strong enough to damage the underground facility's containment walls. Crawford, of course, was furious. After a very color lecture, the ex-soccer player was sent home to contemplate his inadequacies.

While recent events had brought Ken's self-esteem to a new low, he refused to wallow in misery or self-pity. He had chosen this path; come hell or high water, he would walk it with his head held high. Since good food always brightened his mood, he decided to spoil himself with a home-cooked feast.

Ken's usual good cheer was beginning to return when he felt a gun at the back of his head. He knew he wasn't up to par with the seasoned Hunters at WAS, but he didn't think he was **that** hopeless. How could he have not sensed the intruder's presence? He quickly considered his options and realized he didn't have any. He could try to disarm the man; but as quick as his reflexes were, he didn't think he'd be fast enough to dodge a bullet from a gun pressed to the back of his head. He couldn't use his powers here; the risk of collateral damage was too great. Besides, the man was behind him. Even if he had better control, he couldn't aim his blasts at someone he couldn't see.

Ken wasn't afraid to die; it was no more than what he deserved for the lives he had taken. But this would be such a **stupid** way to go, getting shot in his own home while making lunch. Annoyed at the situation, but not the least bit afraid, he replied sarcastically, "Name's Ken Hidaka. And I think it's pretty obvious that I'm making salmon teriyaki."

As if to verify the ex-soccer player's statement, the teriyaki sauce on his pan chose that moment to sizzle loudly. "You can shoot me if you want, but I'm taking my lunch off the stove before it burns."

Aya was shocked when the intruder proceeded to ignore the gun pressed at the back of his head and moved. He watched, frozen, as his target turned off the gas stove and opened one of the overhead cabinets to retrieve a plate. Emptying the contents of his pan onto the plate, the brunette asked nonchalantly, "So, is there a reason for all this drama, or do you just like to break into houses and point guns at people's heads?

When the initial surprise faded, the redhead was tempted to just shoot the man and let his conscience deal with another murder. How dare the intruder mock him!But before the assassin could pull the trigger, he remembered Persia mentioning a prospective Hunter. Could this suicidal brat be his new teammate? Without dropping his guard, he grated out, "I'm Aya. I live here."

Ken almost dropped his plate at the mention of Aya's name. He had heard so much about the Abyssinian in the past month, with descriptions ranging from "an anal human icicle" to "an angel who delivers people from Crawford's wrath". He was truly looking forward to meeting their enigmatic field leader.

But now that he had, he was inclined to agree with Youji's assessment. Abyssinian might be **perfect** on the field; but he was seriously lacking in the personal skills department. Confidence returned with the knowledge that his life was in no imminent danger. Smirking, he turned, "I guess that makes two of us, well, except for the being Aya part."

Aya growled, wondering if he **could** get away with murdering his new teammate. **Everything** about Ken was irritating him, his smug expression, his relaxed posture, his brash attitude. But then, he knew, given his mood today, he would probably find **anyone** annoying. It wasn't Ken's fault; the man just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lowering his weapon, the redhead sighed, "So you're the new Hunter?"

"Yup," Ken nodded as he searched the drawers for a fork. It would be a waste to let his fresh-off-the-grill salmon get cold.

"Why aren't you at the office?" Aya wasn't sure why he'd bothered to ask; it wasn't as if he really **cared** to know the answer. But then, getting a feel for Ken's schedule could be useful; it would make it easier to avoid unnecessary encounters in the future.

Ken's bright smile dimmed as the Oracle's words whirled in his mind. Refusing to give into depression, he forced a cheeky smile and replied, "Crawford said I've done enough damage for a day."

"You're a Craft User, huh?" Ran remarked with an educated guess. It would explain why Persia was so adamant on recruiting this new Hunter. A Craft User, if left on their own devices, often chose to forsake their humanity altogether and become Dark Witches. Bringing Ken into their organization would not only secure a powerful ally, but also ensure the brunette's powers would not be used for evil.

"Sort of," grunted Ken, remembering what the Oracle had dubbed him. Seeing Aya's brow knit in puzzlement, he clarified, "According to Crawford, 'Craft Users are people who uses their Craft constructively'. And since I can't, I'm what he calls a 'walking disaster'." He had deliberately lowered his voice and enunciated every word when he quoted Crawford. If he were going to relive his humiliating lecture, he might as well attempt to make it fun.

Aya could not help but let out a small chuckle at Ken's imitation of Crawford. He could picture the Oracle, exasperated, fingers twitching as he contemplated murder and mayhem. He was given to understand that before Schwartz and Weiss merged, such displays often resulted in violence; but Aya had yet to see the American resort to physical measures. Perhaps it had something to do with the Oracle's weirdconcern withstaying on his good side… as if he **had** a good side. "That sounds like Crawford alright."

Ken knew he hadn't done anything to deserve respect from their field leader; but it still hurt to have Aya laugh at his shortcomings so callously. He should have expected it; but a part of Ken had held out hope that there was a shred of kindness in the redhead despite his ill-tempered façade. He couldn't believe Nagi had him believing that everything would be better once Abyssinian returned. Averting his gaze to hide the hurt welling in the chocolate depths, he muttered, "Yeah."

Aya noticed the brunette's strained smile and realized the man had taken his amusement the wrong way. While he could not care less what Ken thought of him, he was field leader of WAS; and with his position came certain responsibilities. A Hunter who did not believe his own abilities was a liability in the field;and that was something Abyssinian could not allow Ken to become. Though not compassionate by nature, he was duty-bound to undo the damage the Oracle had done to the rookie's confidence.

Taking a deep breath to push the annoyance at the situation from his mind, Aya spoke in a soft authoritative voice, "He is right, you know. A Craft User who cannot control his Craft is a danger to himself and others. But you don't need to be a Craft User to be a Hunter. Youji, Omi and me, we don't have any special abilities; but when we were Weiss, we have always stood head to head to Schwartz and held our own. Sure, you have a gift, and everyone expects you to use it; but in the end, how you fight is entirely up to you. "

Ken couldn't believe his ears. By all accounts, Abyssinian was a man of few words. Why would the taciturn redhead expend his precious breath on consoling a rookie like him? Regardless of the reason, Ken was grateful. For the past month, all he had done was try to live up to everyone's expectations. He never once questioned whether the training regiment Kritiker had designed was right for him.

But thanks to Aya, Ken now realized **he** had a say the matter too. From now on, he would focus on what he **could** do, instead of what was expected of him. He would be a Hunter of WAS; but he would do it in his own way. Face split into a wide grin, Ken lifted determined amber eyes to meet the redhead's intense amethyst gaze. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"Hn." Now that he had done his duty, Aya saw no reason to continue being conversational. After all, he was still tired; and he still did **not** want to deal with people. Ignoring the brunette, he strolled to the refrigerator and stole one of Omi's yogurts. It wasn't much, but it would do for now. He was too tired to have much appetite anyway.

"Is that all you're planning to eat?" Ken frowned as the redhead exited the kitchen. When no answer came, he followed Aya into the living area.

The redheaded assassin returned his gun to its hiding place and picked up his bag. He could feel Ken's concerned gaze on him; but he was determined to ignore it. He didn't want to give the brunette the wrong idea. They were **not** friends.

Ken glanced at the delicious-looking salmon on his plate and decided he could always make more. Because of Aya, he no longer felt as if he was a useless waste of space. He would make sure the redhead ate properly; it was the least he could do. "You want some fish? It's really good."

Aya was tempted to clarify his position, to let Ken know in unequivocal terms that they were **colleagues**, and nothing more. But that would require many words; and it was a task beyond his exhausted brain right now. It would be best to be 'diplomatic' and make a polite refusal. "Maybe later. I'm too tired right now."

Ken blushed as he mentally kicked himself for not realizing how tired Aya must have been. The man had just gotten home from a ten-hour flight; all he probably wanted was a shower and some rest. No wonder the redhead was so cranky when he found him in the kitchen. "Right… I'll leave you to your rest then. If you want anything, just yell, okay?"

"Hn," the redhead nodded before turning to head upstairs to his room.

Ken kept his gaze on Aya's retreating form as he began to eat. His food was now cold; but he was in too good of a mood to mind. With the redhead's appearance, WAS no longer seemed like purgatory; instead, it felt like the starting point for a new life.


	4. Chapter 4

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

/…/ denote thoughts

Author's note: Hey HeatherR and Seph Lorraine, thanks for reviewing. I was really unsure about the last chapter since it's 'all talk and no action'. I'm really glad to hear that you guys like it. This chapter is like that, since I decided to leave the action for the next. I hope this isn't too bad either 

Seph: I'm happy you like my Aya. I love him first and foremost in the series; and it's very important for me to do his character justice. I know he comes off as callous and cold in the original series and I want to keep that. But ultimately, I want him to be a sympathetic character, because I know I wouldn't have fallen for him if he **were** just an abominable ass  Ken, well, he's just a blast to write. It's great to have him be fun to contrast Aya's cool. That's sort of how Ken came off as for me in the series, the undying optimist who would try to make the best out of any situation and just have fun. But enough of me babbling, on with the story!

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Chapter 4

Sleep-filled amethyst eyes flickered open to stare into darkness. It was late, Ran knew, but he made no effort to rise. Turning onto his side, he watched the fluorescent hands of his clock move, seconds, then minutes of his life ticking away into nothingness. There was no place he needed to be; no one he wanted to see. He existed only for his sister and his missions; and at the moment, neither had need of him.

A quiet rumble in his stomach roused him from his reverie; no matter how **dead** he felt inside, there were some basic needs that could not be ignored. 10:35pm, he had slept the entire day away; no wonder he was famished. Reclining on his elbows, he made a quick mental checklist of his housemates' locations; despite his rest, he was still not in the mood for company. He knew Youji would be out partying; and Omi would be in his room, working on the computer. That left Ken, whose schedule was still a mystery.

Ran had a feeling that the brunette was the amiable sort; more likely than not, the man would attempt to befriend him. While that was a problem that needed to be resolved, he much preferred to leave it until later. Right now, he just wanted a quiet dinner before returning to the comforts of his bed.

A soft knock drew the redhead's attention to the door. He knew it had to be Ken; his other housemates would never have come "check on him". Youji never cared enough to bother in the first place; and Omi had learned long ago to respect his need for privacy and solitude. Ran was tempted to yell "Go Away!" when a second knock followed; but he suspected it would be more effective to ignore the knocking. As friendly as Ken might be, the brunette would not disturb a tired man's much-needed 'rest'.

A few moments of silence followed. Ran was about to let out a sigh of relief when he heard the sound of his doorknob turning. It would seem Ken had less **manners** than he had expected. What kind of man entered another's bedroom without permission, when the owner of said room was supposedly sleeping defenselesslyin it?

A small crack of light seeped through the door, forcing the redhead to squint. He watched, as a predator would a prey, as the brunette hesitated at the door before stepping in. Though he was eager to teach Ken a well-deserved lesson for entering without permission, he waited, observing the intruder through veiled eyes as the man moved towards his desk and carefully placed a rectangular box upon it.

When Ken turned away to leave, the redhead struck. In lightning fast movements, Aya bolted from his bed to grab his new teammate's shoulders. Taking full advantage of the element of surprise, he easily pinned the more muscular brunette to the wall. Growling in his most menacing tone, he asked, "What do you think you're doing here?"

"Fuck!" Ken yelled as he found himself slammed against a wall. If looks could kill, the redhead's amethyst glare would have pulverized him and scattered his remains into the wind. Luckily, Aya was not a Craft User, which meant the fierce glower only left him a bit shaken, instead of dead. "I… uh… I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep."

"Right. And what makes you think it's okay to sneak into **my** room while I'm **asleep**?" Aya's hands tightened around the brunette's shoulders as he shoved the man harder against the wall. He was more than a little tempted to beat his new teammate into a pulp; but he had a feeling Persia would not appreciate it. That, and Ken was a Craft User. As furious as he was, he had enough sense left to **not** pick a fight without knowing the nature and extent of the brunette's powers.

"I wasn't trying to sneak in!" Ken exclaimed as indignation rose against the redhead's rough treatment. His team leader was nice to him this afternoon; all he wanted was to return the favor. It wasn't as if he were trying to do something bad to Aya while the man was asleep. "You missed dinner; and I thought you might be hungry…"

"First you said you thought I was asleep; and now you're saying you thought I might be hungry. Are you that bad of a liar that you can't keep your excuses straight?" On a logical level, the redhead understood his teammate's good intentions; but the fury churning in him refused to abate. His room was his private sanctuary, a place where he could shed his duties and just be **himself**, an empty shell waiting for his turn in Hell. He had never allowed anyone entry. Regardless of reason, Ken had no **right** to be in here at all!

"Damn it! I'm **not** lying! And how am I supposed to explain if you keep interrupting every ten seconds!" Ken had always been a hothead; and his team leader's assault on his integrity had struck one of the ex-soccer player's sore spots. Shoving at Aya in attempt to get free, he matched the man's harsh frigid amethyst gaze with a heated glare of his own.

"I figured you'll be hungry when you wake up, so I made you a bento. I was going to leave it in the kitchen, but I don 't know how long you're going to sleep, and I don't want Youji coming back and eating it, so I thought I'd brought it up here for you. If I had known you're going to be such an **ass** about it, I wouldn't have bothered!"

For a moment, the redhead was too surprised to respond. Ken had held his ground in the face of his most intimidating scowl! No one, except his dearest sister, had ever managed such a feat. His expression softened as his thoughts drifted to his vibrant, willful sister. She had always been his antithesis, always trying to '**save**' him from his gloomy brooding nature. Within the fiery amber eyes matching his glare, he could see a bit of her in the brunette, the same determination, the same open honesty. Part of Ran wanted to reach out as he always had with Aya-chan, to bask in that warmth, even if it was just for a little while; but things were different now. He was beyond redemption; his life was no longer his own.

Releasing the brunette gently, Ran backed away with a weary sigh, "You're right; you shouldn't have bothered."

Ken frowned in confusion at the sudden change in the redhead's behavior. He hadn't expected his outburst to resolve the situation; if anything, a tiny, more rational part of him was wary that his tantrum would lead to a full blow fight. Yet, there was no mistake in the change in Aya's temperament. Before, the man was positively seething; but now, he just seemed tired, maybe a little sad even.

"Yeah, now I know," Ken quipped with a forced smile. As the silence stretched on, he could feel it, the tension in the air, an undercurrent filled with melancholy and loneliness. It was intimate, private, making him feel like an intruder inside a personal haven. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, the brunette muttered, "Listen, I'm really sorry I came in without permission, okay?"

"Hn."

Given the redhead's reticent nature, Ken was quite certain the monosyllabic answer was all he would get. "Goodnight, then," he said as he turned to leave. The atmosphere in the room was becoming more oppressive by the second; he needed to leave **gracefully** before he gave into the temptation to bolt.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Aya commented quietly to draw the brunette's attention. When Ken turned, the redhead's amethyst gaze turned towards the box the brunette had left on his desk.

"Nah, you keep it," Ken mumbled as he forced himself to look the intimidating redhead once again in the eyes. With a soft smile, he added, "I owe you one for cheering me up this afternoon."

"You don't owe me anything. I'm just doing my duty as your team leader," replied the redhead with a sigh. He was definitely not in the mood to have **this** talk with Ken now; but he knew he could not ask for a more opportune moment. He **had** to make the brunette understand his wishes to be left alone, before the man had another chance to overstep the boundaries of what he considered 'acceptable behavior'.

"I thought Crawford is team leader." Krikiter had told Ken that the Oracle was operation controller, the one calling the shots once a mission was handed down from Persia to WAS. Abyssinian was only field leader; the man still had to take orders from the arrogant clairvoyant, just like the rest of them…

A small smile tugged at the corners of Aya's lips at his teammate's confused expression. There was something adorable in the way Ken's mouth hung open slightly as his brows furrowed. Shaking his head to clear it of the errant thought, the redhead schooled his features into the perfect mask of ice as befitting Abyssinian of Weiss. "Crawford is our mission planner. It is his job to know the team's weaknesses, to cover all possible liabilities in the mission plans. I am the field leader. It is my job to understand the team's strengths, to know what I can depend if the mission falls through."

As Ken's mind processed the redhead's words, an impish grin replaced the confused look on his face. "So you're saying it's Crawford's job to make everyone feel like shit, and it's yours to make us feel better?"

Aya wasn't sure if he wanted to shake the brunette in frustration or laugh at the irony of it all. He was supposed to be pushing Ken **away**, not have the man believing he was the **nice** one in WAS! "I don't give a damn about how you feel! All I care about is how your **issues** affects your work."

Ken was expecting this; Omi had warned him earlier about Aya's tendency to be callous and downright **malicious** to those who attempted to get too close. The hurtful words stung a little; but it wasn't as if they'd known each other long enough for the redhead to truly **care** about him anyway. Grin unwavering, the brunette shrugged, "Doesn't matter. You're there for me when I needed it; that's reason enough for me to try to be there for you too."

"You…" Aya was at a loss for words. He'd been a total callous bastard to Ken ever since the brunette walked through his door; but the man was still **here**, still **thankful**, still wanting to **be there **for him, as if they were more than assassins who happened to be assigned to the same team.

Ken smirked at the redhead's truncated answer. Aya was kind of cute when he was all flustered like that. He had a feeling it was a rather rare sight. Knowing to quit while he was ahead, the brunette quickly made his way to the door. "I'll leave you with your food then; I hope you like curry."

Without waiting for a reply, the brunette stepped out of Aya's room and closed the door behind him. He knew he would probably feel the full force of his field leader's icy ire later; but he couldn't bring himself to care. The chance to get to know the reserved redhead better was well worth it.

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Aya glared at his boxed dinner, as if trying to make it vanish by the force of his will; but it remained as unaffected by his death glare as the brunette who had brought it. To add insult to injury, the offending item was emitting a delectable aroma that made his stomach growl in delight. He knew he could always throw it out and make himself something else; but the pragmatist in him reasoned the satisfaction of rejecting Ken's offer wasn't worth the work.

Swallowing his pride, the redhead took a seat and opened the bento. There's curry rice, a wakame salad, as well as an assortment of maki-sushi. Ken had really gone all out when preparing his dinner. Though Aya was a devout loner, he couldn't help but feel a little grateful for the brunette's efforts. If looks were anything to go by, this would be the first decent meal he'd had in days.

The redhead sighed in bliss as he tried a spoonful of curry rice. The sauce was rich and thick with just a tinge of spiciness, **exactly** the way he liked it. He never thought Ken would be such a great cook; the brunette certainly didn't **look** the type with his muscular built and golden skin. But then, looks could be deceiving; and he had a feeling there was a lot more to Ken than what met the eye.

Aya gave himself a mental shake to redirect his thoughts. Ken had made him food; and he had decided to eat it. That was the end of the matter; it didn't change the fact that he wanted nothing to do with his new teammate. There was no reason to ponder the complex mysteries of the brunette; it wasn't as if he **cared** to find out. With a scowl, he forced his mind to focus on the simple motions of eating. /Fill spoon with food… put food in mouth… chew… swallow… repeat…there is nothing else to think about…/

A sudden sharp chirp from his cell phone interrupted the redhead's meal. The sound was soon followed by an alarm resounding through the Weiss house. It was the signal for an emergency WAS meeting/mission. Such emergencies were hardly an uncommon occurrence. Persia was a kind man at heart and often sent in Kritiker's non-lethal units on "humane" hunts. When such operation failed, WAS would be sent in as reinforcements to take out the target.

Aya sighed as a pounding on his door added to the din. Omi and Ken were waiting for him outside. He supposed he should at least give the brunette credit for not crashing right in, but he wasn't in a particularly "generous" mood today. Casting a last, almost wistful look at his half-eaten dinner, the redhead moved to get ready for battle. A quick change of clothes later, Aya opened his door to face his teammates. There was no rest for the wicked; and tonight, Abyssinian of WAS would kill again.

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	5. Chapter 5

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: Man, I feel so long-winded. The mission took like 8 pages! I suck!

Thanks Gonyos, Gillie, HeatherR, Seph Lorraine, Muchacha and Wolf for your reviews. They really made my day 

Gonyos: Glad you like my Abyssinian. He's my favorite assassin; and he gets a chance to show his stuff again in this chapter. Hopefully, he doesn't disappoint 

Seph: Thanks again for all your kind words concerning Ran's and Ken's characterizations. I love them in the anime; and I'm relieved to hear you like my version of them 

Gillie: About mentorship, I sort of see Aya and Ken as equals who take turns at being the mentor. Professionally, Aya is Ken's inspiration; but on a personal level, Ken is the one taking the initiative.

HeatherR: About Crawford, for me, him and Ran are sort of like two faces of the same coin. They are special to each other, but in what way, I can't say yet :P

Muchacha: This story doesn't require much knowledge of Witch Hunter Robin. Some cases and concepts are taken from there; but I will put those into context. So hopefully, it won't be too confusing.

Wolf: Crawford isn't that bad. He just can't help himself. After all, it's Ran we are talking about.

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Chapter 5

"Manx," Abyssinian nodded in greeting as he entered the mission room. Persia's secretary was standing in her customary place beside the projection screen, ready to begin the briefing as soon as all the members of W.A.S arrived.

"Good to have you back, Abyssinian," the secretary smiled before turning to Omi who had arrived with the redheaded assassin. "Can you give Prodigy a hand at the computer? Kritiker is transferring tonight's mission's data now."

Aya frowned at the secretary's words; the mission must be **very** urgent for her to start giving W.A.S information before the group briefing. As he settled in his usual spot, to the right of the Oracle who sat at the head of the table, he could feel the weight of calculating golden eyes upon him. "If you want to ask something, ask."

"It's not as if you're going to answer," Crawford answered with a flippant smile. He didn't need to be a clairvoyant to know that questions concerning the redhead's US trip would be met with silence.

Aya huffed in annoyance at the American's quip, but made no answer. He was hungry, jetlagged, **and** he didn't get a moment's peace on his drive to the office because Ken and Omi were chatting about everything and anything. He was in no mood to deal with Crawford's veiled attempts to pry into his personal matters right now.

Though Crawford wasn't a telepath, he understood Aya's moods better than most. As interested as he was in the redhead's trip, he knew now was not the time to push. It would be best to change the subject. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leaned towards Aya to speak in his ear, "I would give you the night off; but this is going to be tough, even with you taking point." The Oracle had **seen** what their target was capable of. If they were not careful tonight, the Hunters could end up as prey.

"That bad?"

"Persia is sending us as backup for a Kritiker op, but I sincerely doubt there will be anyone left to back up when we get there," the Oracle answered with a nonchalant shrug. He couldn't care less about Kritiker's agents; those idiots were filled with an overblown sense of justice that never failed to get on his nerves.

"Hn," Aya nodded gravely. Though he didn't believe in fate, he trusted the Oracle's visions. He was about to ask Crawford for more details when the last two members of W.A.S sauntered into the room.

Without waiting for Schuldig and Youji to take their seats, Manx said, "Gentlemen, let's get started." Time was of the essence; Kritiker's surveillance team requested backup half an hour ago. They had to hurry if they were to save the agents' lives.

The image of a desiccated corpse filled the projection screen. The short hair and business suit suggested that the victim was male. "This was Daisuke Tachibana. He was the primary suspect for the murders in Lakeview Park. Kritiker has been tailing him for weeks; but five days ago, he vanished. His body was found, in that condition, two days later."

"Isn't it a good thing that the guy is dead? Saves us the trouble of hunting him," asked Ken, who was never good at keeping his excitable nature in check. Sitting still and listening just wasn't **_his_** thing.

Manx would have shot the ex-soccer star a nasty look for the interruption, but she knew it was Ken's first mission meeting. He didn't know the proper etiquette yet. Ignoring the brunette's question, she continued her presentation, "His murder was not an isolated incident."

On Manx's cue, pictures of two other shriveled corpses replaced the first. This time, the victims appeared to be a young woman and her child. "These bodies were found yesterday in an alley behind a supermarket. After an exhaustive investigation, Kritiker traced the murders to this man: Kazuma Kurata."

The next slide showed a photograph of a sour-faced man with shaggy black hair. "Kritiker has sent a team to keep Kurata under surveillance; but their position has been compromised. We received their request for backup half an hour ago. They are at a fertilizer manufacturing plant 20 minutes north of city center. The layout of the location has been transferred to the WAS main computer."

The secretary stopped as the familiar silhouette of Persia flickered onto the screen. A deep baritone rang out in the mission room, giving WAS their orders. "Kurata is an extremely dangerous Witch. He must be stopped before he can kill again. Hunters of the Night, deny this Dark Beast his tomorrow!"

As the video ended, Manx turned up the lights and asked, "I take it you are all in?"

"Like there's a choice?" Schuldig asked sarcastically as he cast a pointed look at the Oracle. Weiss might have been a democracy where assassins were free to choose their assignments; but W.A.S was a different matter. Crawford decided who went on the field; and god helped anyone who tried to argue.

"Well then, gentleman, good luck," the secretary said as she strutted to the door. With a wave and a smile, she left W.A.S alone to plan their mission.

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"Nagi, do you see anything useful in Kritiker's info? Schuldig asked, ignoring the small blonde who was their chief computer expert.

"It says here that Kurata can absorb another person's life force and use it to extend his own. It seems like the man is more than 120 years old," the dark-haired youth answered as he skimmed through the files. "He has an insect tattoo on his right hand that is likely tied to the source of his powers. But there's no information on what his Craft is exactly."

"In other words, Kritiker gave us zilch. Why am I not surprised?" the orange-haired German quipped with a trademarked sarcastic smirk.

Crawford could sense a full-blown argument brewing between Omi and the telepath. While he found such things entertaining for most parts, he knew Aya was on a short fuse tonight. It would be best to get this mission underway as soon as possible. Before another word could be said, the Oracle spoke, "He can transform into flies at will. That's how he attacks, by swarming his victims and absorbing their life force."

"So how do we kill him?" Youji asked with a frown. If Kurata turned into a swarm of flies, did it mean they have to destroy **_all_** the flies to kill the witch?

"With bug spray?" Ken suggested with a mischievous grin. Part of him dreaded the thought of taking another life; but the other wanted to prove his worth as a Hunter. And from what he'd heard about tonight's target, he was certain he could be of help. Though he couldn't control his powers, he could most definitely set an _**entire** _swarm of flies on fire. Even Crawford **had** to see that… no matter how much the man disliked him.

"That's a good one. Very funny," Schuldig laughed, though it was more at the Oracle's irate expression than at the brunette's joke. He knew Ken's optimistic and carefree attitude irritated Crawford to no end. It was fun watching the rookie ruffled the normally calm American's feathers through sheer force of presence alone.

Ignoring the joke, Crawford outlined his plans for the mission. "We have to catch him by surprise. Prodigy will act as decoy; and Abyssinian will take out the target."

"Shouldn't we have a backup plan? You know, in case, someone makes a mistake," the German asked with a vicious smile. Baiting Aya was one of his favorite past-times; the redhead was one of the few people he couldn't read and the unpredictability made the game so much fun.

"We can take Ken, I mean, Siberian. His powers are perfect for the job," Nagi broke his usual silence to propose the obvious choice for backup. The brunette might have trouble controlling his Craft, but of all the W.A.S members, he was the only one capable of taking down the target in a "shape-shifted" state.

"This mission is dangerous enough as it is. We don't need someone inexperienced messing things up." When Crawford had his first premonitions on the mission, he had thought of sending Siberian. But that was before he had a vision of the brunette setting off an explosion and the target escaping in the confusion.

"And how am I supposed to get experience if you won't send me onto the field?" Ken asked as he stood from his seat beside Aya to glare down at the Oracle.

Abyssinian was never one to question mission assignments. His only concern was getting the job done once he was on the field. But tonight, his instincts were telling him **not** to take the team out without a proper fallback plan. "Ken can guard the exit. If I do my job right, he won't have a chance to mess up."

For a moment, Crawford was too stunned to reply. He and Aya had always implicitly trusted each other to handle their respective duties; he'd never thought the redhead would question his planning for the sake of a rookie. The responsible leader in him was tempted to share his vision to dissuade the redhead; but his sardonic side **wanted** Aya to reap what he sowed. "Fine. But when things blow up in your face, just remember I tried to warn you."

"Hn," the redhead nodded with a grim expression. He knew Crawford viewed his behavior as a violation of trust; but his instincts had saved him and his team many times before. He simply **_couldn't_** ignore their warning. It would be best to heed them and deal with repairing his work relationship with the Oracle later.

Besides, though Aya hated to admit it, Ken had a point. The brunette would never become a good Hunter if they kept "babying" him. The man had to be allowed to make mistakes and learn to deal with them on his own strength. Giving Siberian field experience early on would be best for W.A.S in the long run. Ignoring the harsh look Crawford sent his way, the redhead addressed his team as field leader, "Mastermind, Prodigy and Siberian, gear up. We move in two minutes."

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"Kurata is one sick puppy," Mastermind laughed maliciously as he slipped into the target's mind. He could see through the witch's eyes; and right now, he was looking at heavy boots trampling upon a desiccated corpse, grounding what used to be fingers into dust.

"Can you influence his perceptions?" Abyssinian whispered into the communicator as he motioned for Siberian and Prodigy to hold. To avoid unnecessary noises, the assassins were approaching the factory on foot. Mastermind was at the car some distance away where he could concentrate on his telepathy.

"I'll try, but no guarantees," the German smirked, imagining Abyssinian's irate look at his noncommittal answer. Like Crawford, the redhead absolutely **hated** uncertainties and surprises.

"Stop fooling around, Schu. This is serious," Prodigy reprimanded in an impassive voice that made him sound much older than his age.

Chuckling softly in the comforts of the car, the German reasoned, "If I push too hard, he'll realize I'm in his head. We can't have that now, can we?"

"Just do your job, Mastermind," Oracle hissed in a venomous voice from his command post at the office. He just wanted this mission over with. His sadistic side wanted Abyssinian to get back sooner so he could say, "I told you so"; and the gentler side that he'd refused to acknowledge was worried.

The German could tell their leader was in a bad mood. Though masochistic by nature, he knew not to mess around when Crawford was pissed. After a moment of intense concentration, the telepath replied, "I can't control him. He's too strong and paranoid for it."

"Fine, just tell us what you see," Bombay asked impatiently as he called up the floor plans of the factory. With the telepath's description, he should be able to pinpoint the target's exact location and devise a plan of attack.

"Heavy machinery on all sides. High ceiling. No windows on eye level. A door on the far left. Room's moonlit, I think, unless the guy can see **_really_** well in the dark."

"Got it. He's in an equipment storage area at the southeastern corner of the factory. There are only two points of entry, the door and the skylight. Prodigy will take the door and engage the target. Abyssinian will come through the skylight for the kill. Siberian will stand by at the door," the blond computer expert proposed as he looked to Crawford for final approval.

When the American nodded, Bombay confirmed, "Mission plan's a go. Everyone, move into position."

As the lines went silent, signaling the assassins' final approach towards the target, Omi whispered, "Be careful out there tonight." The stage was now set; all he could do was wait and hope everything would turn out alright.

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Smiling, Prodigy busted through the door with a blast of wind. He enjoyed being the decoy. He was in no imminent danger thanks to his powers; and he could just let loose and fight. It was much better than taking point or acting as backup, where he had to worry about losing the target and thus, incurring the Oracle's wrath. His smile faded, however, when he saw the desiccated corpses littering the factory floor. Five in total, accounting for the entire surveillance team; as Oracle had predicted, there was no one left for WAS to save.

"Who are you?"

The raspy whisper drew Nagi's attention to a sable-haired figure amidst the carnage. Ravenous green eyes, gleaming with unnatural light, bore into him, sending chills down his spine despite his power and experience.

"I am not in the habit of giving my name to dead men," Prodigy replied evenly without betraying his unease. The Witch emanated a pervasive aura, ancient and evil; he could feel it invading his senses, sapping his strength even as they stood, gauging each other's abilities in silence.

"You are a strong one, aren't you?" the Witch asked in a malicious singsong tone as he held out a hand towards the Hunter.

The Witch's hand dissolved into a dark mist. A stream of black flies materialized from the haze, surging towards the Hunter with frightening speed. Prodigy erected his psychic shield to repel the attack. When the insects swarmed the invisible barrier, the Hunter went on a counterstrike, sending out a blast of wind that crushed all the pestilent flies in its path.

"Not bad, not bad," Kurata's maniacal laughter echoed in the night as his hand regained shape and substance. He playfully curled each digit, showing off that he remained uninjured despite the Hunter's assault. "I think I will enjoy this."

Prodigy frowned at the Witch's display; but before he had time to reconsider his strategy, another swarm of flies was heading straight for him. As he blocked the attack once more with his mental shield, he couldn't help but wish for Abyssinian to move soon. Otherwise, it was going to be an exhausting night.

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On the roof of the factory, basking in the silvery moonlight, Abyssinian stood, silent and still as stone. He only had **_one_** chance; he would not squander it with a premature move. Amethyst eyes glittered as he studied the fierce battle below. Thus far, his analysis had told him one thing: Kurata was not a shape-shifter; he was a Summoner. The black mist was a portal to his domain, the flies his minions. Killing them would not harm the Witch; it only weakened his connection to the dark realm where his servants resided. And when a portal became too weak to sustain, the Summoner would rematerialize to foster a new one.

With this new insight came a set of extra complications. Unlike shape-shifters, whose final forms shared a single conscious, each minion had its own awareness. Each fly was an independent sentinel for the Witch. As it was impossible to launch a surprise attack when there were literally thousands of eyes watching, Abyssinian's window of opportunity was no longer 'whenever the target was preoccupied'. He had to strike in the time between Prodigy's counterattack and the Witch's next.

A loud crash from below told Aya it was time to act. His young telekinetic teammate had a tendency to release too much power when frustrated. He would risk getting caught in "friendly fire" if he were to wait any longer. The assassin took a deep breath as he silently opened the window that led to the battleground. Crouching by the opening, he watched the target let loose another swarm at the psychic. As Prodigy released a blast that destroyed the Witch's minions, the redhead jumped.

In mid-descent, Abyssinian threw a grappling wire at a support beam overhead. The wire wrapped securely around the steel rafter, slowing his fall and giving him a fulcrum to swing towards the target. When his trajectory was set, he released the wire, letting his momentum bring him within striking distance. With lightning speed, he drew his sword, slashing deep into the base of the target's neck.

Abyssinian's plan would have been perfect, if not for the fact that Prodigy had sent out **_two_** simultaneous telekinetic blasts, instead of a single one. Before the redhead had a chance to follow through with his sword draw and decapitate the Witch, the psychic's second attack hit.

"Shit!" Prodigy shouted as his attack tossed Abyssinian into the wall with a sickening thud. The redhead grunted from the force of impact, the pain shooting through his body intense enough to make his head swim.

The target was also sent flying, but was able to summon his minions in mid-air to halt his flight. Holding the deep gash on his neck, the Witch turned towards the newcomer responsible for his wound and screamed, "You will pay for this!"

It was at this moment that Siberian came busting through the door. He knew he wasn't supposed to move without orders; but he couldn't ignore Prodigy's cry and Abyssinian's pained groan. He would do whatever he could to help his teammates, even if it meant facing disciplinary action from WAS or Kritiker later.

Dread overcame Ken's senses as he watched the Witch's minions streaked towards his defenseless field leader. Through his comlink, he could hear Oracle yelling at him, telling him to let Prodigy handle it; but his powers were no longer his to control. It was like the night at the warehouse when he'd first awakened to his gifts, his desperation fueling his Craft without his knowledge or volition.

Sparks erupted from still air, tainting the room in its blood red hue. Flames embraced the Witch's servants, setting them ablaze with their fiery touch. As the incinerated swarm fell, the smoldering ashes scattered, falling upon nitrous fertilizer precursors that shared the storage space with the machinery. The result was an explosion so strong that rocked the foundations of the factory.

Standing protectively over his fallen leader, Prodigy's sharp eyes scanned for the target amidst the sea of fire. Earlier, Oracle's voice on the comlink had jolted him out of the shock at his mistake. Immediately, he'd teleported to his field leader and projected his strongest mental barrier around them, barely in time to protect the redhead from the explosion.

Through the thick smoke, the psychic spotted the target heading towards an opening made by the explosion. Seeing Siberian's display of power, Kurata must have decided that the odds were against him; the Witch was attempting an escape. Though Prodigy wanted to give chase, he couldn't leave Abyssinian. Flames were raging wild inside the factory; the redhead needed the protection of his mental barrier.

"Siberian, the target is at the western wall!" Though Prodigy didn't have his teammate in sight, he knew the brunette was somewhere by the door. As a Craft User with the power to control fire, Ken was immune to the flames. He was the perfect candidate to chase down their target in this inferno. "I have to take care of Abyssinian. Kurata is all yours."

The psychic's call broke the terrifying thought that had held Ken paralyzed. Aya was alive! He hadn't inadvertently killed the man he wanted to save! "Leave it to me," the brunette responded as he began to sprint towards the target's location.

Fire licked Siberian's skin, a teasing touch that demanded his attention, but he paid it no heed. He had the Witch in sight now; but after his initial blunder, he was hesitant to use his powers. Clenching his fist to activate his bugnuks, he quickened his pace; he would do this **_his_** way. A few more steps and he would be within striking distance; but it was not to be. Before he could reach Kurata, the Witch leapt out of the burning factory and dissolved into black mist.

Ken followed the target out of the building; but there was nothing he could do as he watched the mist dissipated in the night sky. Closing his eyes in dejection, he sighed, "I've lost him." No immediate reprimand came; but it didn't ease the weight of defeat crushing his spirit. He'd been given a chance tonight; and he'd failed.

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	6. Chapter 6

Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: I love feeding Ran. He's so slim, you know, I really can't help it :P I apologize for having so much revolve around food; I hope you'll bear with me for a bit longer.

Author's note 2: Apologies for the short chapter. I changed some stuff around; so I had to take out a chunk in which Aya and Ken has a heart to heart.Strange as it may sound,I actually like this better. I hope you'll like it too.

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Chapter 6:

Ken watched the young psychic beside him shift restlessly in his seat as they waited to be summoned into the Oracle's office. Normally, he'd be nervous too; but tonight, he felt nothing. He already **_knew_** he screwed up badly; Crawford's harsh criticism couldn't make him feel any worse than he did now.

"You don't seem worried. You really should be, you know, especially since Abyssinian isn't here to bail you out."

The brunette made no response to Schuldig's taunt. He really didn't care what punishment he received from Crawford; it would be no more than what he deserved. Aya trusted him enough to give him a chance tonight; and he lost their target. His fists clenched in self-admonition as he thought of his field leader. Abyssinian was in the hospital; the paramedics on Kritiker's cleanup crew had insisted upon taking him in for a comprehensive examination. Youji was there now, keeping an eye on the redhead, reporting back to Oracle on Aya's condition.

The door to Crawford's office opened. Standing at the entrance, the American said with a weary sigh, "Come on in."

The brunette was surprised at the Oracle's lackluster tone. Crawford was egotistical and sadistic; Ken was certain that the man's greatest pleasure in life was to chew others out and make them feel inferior. Considering their performance tonight, Crawford had plenty of ammunition for his favorite sport; the American should be summoning them with a gleeful, condescending smirk, not a sigh.

The ex-soccer player jumped to his feet and led the way towards the Oracle's office. Schuldig shot him a funny look, but Ken didn't slow his pace. He couldn't care less if the German thought he was masochistic or suicidal; there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He heard Mastermind's chuckle as the man fell into place behind him, "You've got guts, kid. It'll probably get you killed someday, but it's kind of cute."

Once again, Ken ignored the telepath as he stepped into Crawford's workspace. /My mistake, my responsibility/ that was the only thought on the brunette's mind as he walked to the center of the room, standing tall in front of the Oracle's desk with a stoic look. Schuldig chuckled again before taking a place to his left. Nagi was the last to enter, standing to his right after closing the door.

"Schuldig, go home and get some rest. We need you to be your charming self tomorrow. Prodigy and Siberian, you two will look through all our files on Kurata. The key to finding him is in there; you will not leave this office until you find it. Is that understood?"

Ken was shocked by the Oracle's concise orders. Why hadn't Crawford reprimanded him? He certainly deserved it this time! More than once in the past month, he'd had his dignity torn to shreds by the American's biting criticism for much less.

As the brunette stood frozen at the strange turn of events, Schuldig frowned in puzzlement. He knew Crawford gets a high from making people feel like shit; it certainly wasn't like the man to miss out on his favorite pastime. But his frown soon turned into a knowing grin as he sensed his leader's restlessness. Crawford **_really _**wanted to be at the hospital with Aya right now; the feeling was so strong that it was leaking through the clairvoyant's meticulous mental blocks against his telepathy.

The German knew his leader had agreed to join forces with Weiss out of practical reasons; but in the past year, Crawford had grown as close to Aya as a stiff narcissistic supremacist could get to an ill-tempered human icicle. Considering the Oracle's behavior, maybe there was more than just respect and trust on the clairvoyant's part.

As Schuldig stowed this potential blackmail material safely away in his mind, he broke the stunned silence hanging over the American's office. "Guess I'm off then. Good luck with your search, boys." After a courtly bow to his team leader, the telepath sauntered away.

"Do you understand your orders, or do I need to repeat them in smaller words?"

Ken still wasn't sure what alternate dimension he was in; **_Crawford_**, of all people, had offered him a chance to redeem himself. But the brunette was never one to question his blessings for long. He **_wanted_** to contribute to the mission; and he knew, at this moment, there was nothing more important than locating Kurata.

Though sitting around and reading wasn't his strong suit, Ken would give his assignment **_everything_** he had. He was the one who lost the target; he would be the one to find him again. Holding Crawford's disdainful golden eyes with a determined look, he replied, "Please leave it to us. If there's a clue in the files, we'll find it."

"I should hope so," the American said with mock civility, allowing his piercing gaze to convey his censure. "Now, get out and get started."

"Ha!" both Ken and Nagi replied with renewed vigor as they bowed to take their leave. They knew second chances from Crawford were as rare as snow in July; no matter what it took, they wouldn't fail in their new assignment. They **_would_** find Kurata again.

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Ran scowled as he poked the gluey substance with his fork. This was what the Kritiker physicians considered _food_; but no matter how he looked at it, it just didn't seem fit for human consumption. He remembered the delicious half-eaten dinner waiting for him in his room; and he couldn't help but wish the doctors hadn't halted his physical checkup to give him time to eat. So what if his stomach was growling? They were going to check his head for signs of subdural hemorrhaging and cerebral contusion; it's not as if an empty GI tract would affect the results.

Besides, the redhead knew if they had _suspected_ any serious head trauma, they would have done the cranial CT scan right away. They wouldn't have waited until after the full body X-ray. He stabbed the goo on his plate with his fork as his temper flared. Why did they have to do extra precautionary tests right **_now_** anyway?

Kritiker's specialists had already confirmed that there were no broken bones or spinal trauma that could affect his performance in the future. For all intents and purposes, all he had was a bump on his head and a bruised back. There was no reason why they couldn't send him home now and finish the examination later when he felt more _human_.

Ran was tempted to just get up and leave; but he wanted to stay in the medical staff's good graces. After all, these were the same people who looked after his sister; he didn't want to do anything that might reflect badly on her. He eyed his 'food' distastefully again before moving to bring a forkful to his mouth. His body needed the nutrients, now more than ever, if he were to recover in time to take another crack at Kurata.

The redhead swallowed the mush and sighed. It didn't taste bad; it just had no flavor whatsoever. He'd had worse. He was about to eat more when the door opened to reveal Crawford at the entrance.

"Don't eat that. I brought lasagna." Gently closing the door, the American strode to Aya's bedside to place a fancy takeout box on the redhead's bed tray. With a look of disgust, he proceeded to dump the plate of hospital food into the trash.

As Aya opened the box, a mouth-watering aroma permeated the air, making his stomach growl in delight. From the looks and smell of it, his meal was gourmet Italian fare. While he knew Crawford never did anything in half measures, it was unusual for the man to expend time and money on **_anyone's_** behalf. Besides, wasn't Oracle mad at him for taking Siberian as backup on the mission tonight? Frowning in suspicion, the redhead remarked, "This is a lot of trouble to go through just to say 'I told you so'."

Sighing at Aya's reaction to his goodwill, the American replied, "I'm not here to gloat. I want to see how you're doing."

"I'll live." The redhead would have shrugged, but he didn't wish to make any unnecessary movement. His entire body was sore; and he had every intention of letting it rest as much as possible in the next few days.

"You know, when I foresaw our blotched mission, I didn't see this coming," Crawford said as he surveyed the hospital room. "I wouldn't have sent you in if I did."

The Oracle was never one to apologize, but he didn't want Abyssinian to think he'd foreseen the man's hospitalization and allowed it to happen. Though it was a big blow to his ego, he would rather admit he had been caught by surprise than risk losing Abyssinian's trust.

The redhead stared at the clairvoyant as if he'd grown two heads. Aya knew the arrogant American was under the delusion that he was **_always_** right; the man would **_never_** admit to making a miscalculation! "Who are you and what have you done with Crawford?"

"Damnit, Aya, stop questioning me and eat! You're making it harder than it already is!" Crawford growled in an uncharacteristic outburst. Against his better judgment, he'd come tonight without the guidance of his visions. He had wanted to fix his rift with Abyssinian as soon as possible; yet now, having put his pride on the line with his pseudo-apology but to not effect, he couldn't help but wished he'd waited for a sign.

Aya was beginning to understand the Oracle's motives. The man didn't want this incident to get between the trust they'd developed over the past year. It was a feeling the redhead shared; but he never thought a vengeful man like Crawford would voluntarily offer truce. After all, he was the one who stuck his nose into the clairvoyant's business first.

Not one to let the Oracle's offer past, Aya graced the man with a rare full smile. He then proceeded to make a show of tasting his lasagna with relish, a wordless signal to the American that, as far as he was concerned, all was as it should be between them.

Crawford fought to suppress a sigh of relief; he had the image of an uncaring bastard to upkeep after all. Now that 'personal' matters had been dealt with, the Oracle's tone resumed its normal hard, business-like edge. "Just rest here for now. I'll let you know when we find our target."

"Hn," Aya replied as he laid his fork down and took a deep breath. He had a feeling that Crawford wouldn't like what he wanted to bring up next; but he had no choice. As important as their mission was, there was an even more pressing matter – Ken. Having witnessed the brunette's Craft, Abyssinian knew it was too dangerous to be left unchecked. If the man couldn't control it, they would need to partially seal it with a custom amulet. "What about Siberian?"

"What about him?" Crawford shrugged, concealing his annoyance at the mention of the rookie. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was still smarting from the way Aya took Ken's side at the mission meeting earlier.

"We can't afford to have him stay the way he is," the redhead replied calmly, knowing he was treading on thin ice to show 'interest' in Ken so soon after his 'reconciliation' with the Oracle. After all, the brunette was the catalyst to their disagreement tonight in the first place. "He could have killed us tonight."

/Damn Aya for playing the guilt card/ If Abyssinian had said anything else, Crawford knew he could have come up with an excuse to not help the rookie. Ken got on his nerves like none other; and he'd retaliated by making the man's life as miserable as possible. He certainly didn't **_want_** to do the brunette any favor of any sort! But part of the clairvoyant was still reeling from how close he'd come to losing Abyssinian tonight; he simply **_couldn't_** dismiss the man's point when it was put **_that_** way.

"Fine, we'll watch him train when you get out. We have more hands-on experience with Witch Craft than the Kritiker trainers; we should be able to figure out what's wrong with him."

"Thank you," Aya smiled gratefully, masking his surprise. He could tell there was some bad blood between Crawford and Ken; he'd thought it would take a lot of convincing to secure the American's help in Siberian's training.

But whatever the reason, the redhead was glad that everything was settled, the way he'd hoped for. He really didn't want to do any more talking tonight. As if sensing his mood, Crawford spoke, "Whatever. Just eat and get better. I'll come pick you up in a couple of days."

"Hn."

At Abyssinian's monosyllabic reply, the American nodded and left. He wasn't looking forward to getting involved in Siberian's training; but his relief at having set things right with Aya outweighed his annoyance. Besides, Ken having control over his powers didn't mean an end to his _fun_; it only meant he'd have a stronger and more dangerous 'target' to humiliate. A vicious smirk settled upon the Oracle's face; oh, things would definitely get a lot more interesting around the office in the near future.

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End file.
